The Soaring Bird of Courage
"Basop!"
Afrikaaner lifted his huge hand and brought the column to a stop. And examined the bauxite dust, which was a wide path along it, and then went to the bushes on the one hand. He turned.
"A small waiting awaits us, Major, in the front."
Major Simon Edson jumped from the small display wagon. "One up faucet, fix the bayonets".
"Come, boys, you" I hear the officer. Sgt. Cheavers and five members of the tribe jumped to the ground, just as the turbulent tribesmen appeared in the bush and across the track. Almost immediately, one of the soldiers was killed, assegai deep feet in his stomach. The battle has become very personal.
The house of Van der Merwe destroyed a huge double-edged bayonet and began a terrible massacre. Simon, the six bullets in his side arm, now used it as a club in his left hand while holding his own rifle, and rushed to his life in the warriors around them. Suddenly, Iklwa was pushed in Afrikaaner side. Beth looked at him, wounded him and shocked him in the belly of the warrior who was his weapon. The two men opened their eyes in astonishment when he collapsed on the ground clutching his stomach. It was named after the sound it made when pulled from the flesh. It was shorter and wider than Assegai and was used in close quarters combat.
All the soldiers had spent their bullets from one shot Martin Martini. Two of the residents were killed, and the remaining two, along with the sergeant, were engaged in a desperate battle with their bayonets. In, up, twist, out, time and time again. The next time Simon switched to appearance, he was another special victim of iklwa, and Sergeant Chivers and the remaining soldier were fighting back.
It was clear that Piet was weak from pushing iklwa and losing blood, but he fought every ounce of his immense strength.
Suddenly, a knot at the base of his skull crashed, and like a large tree fell by the forest, collapsed on the trail of blood soaked.
Simon stood above him, his back to the bushes on the side of the track. His helmet had long since disappeared, and his red jacket had been cut off, and his white shirt was now soaked in blood. It was difficult to carry a gun for a thick gore on it. The bodies of the warriors are stacked on the ground, yet they continued. He turned back quickly, saw that Sergeant Chivers was on his own, fighting like a demon. Simon went back, in time to find a tribe man coming with him effortlessly under the armpits. He slapped him, led his bayonet into the man's belly, and cut up and across, the warrior sift. His courage spread out. The warrior tried to push them back, but he collapsed.
Only then, knobkerrie crashed alongside Simon's head. A red glow swam before his eyes. Just before he passed it, he thought he heard the sound of the trumpet.
It was a real trumpet. There was a column of fixed soldiers tracking this situation. They made a short work of the survivors and looked around them admiring the massacres of a few men.
The smell of the battle was thick in the air. Blood, courage and intestines. All hell refused to fight. Major Simon Edson, Peet and Sergeant Chivers were the only survivors. Everyone, including the dead, was given the Medal of Distinguished Behavior, except for Simon, who was awarded the Order of Excellence, which he granted to officers.
In September 1868, Mzilikazi died. He was not only the king of all people nDebele, and was their founder. He was a great lieutenant of the great Zulu king, Chashka. In 1823, he was separated from the sovereign, where he was considered to be very greedy and unwilling to share the spoils of war. In this way, he formed the nation nDebele, or Matablele as still called the Europeans. Their language, as now, is similar to Zulu, and its name means Long Shields.
Immediately before his death, Mzilikazi ruled over vast swathes of South Africa, the region that would have been known as Rhodesia, after Cecil Rhodes nearly 20 years. His first son, Nicolomani, must have succeeded him. However, like many absolutist rulers, he made aging a paranoid, and he had Nkulumani and many of his top leaders, or tribal leaders, thrown over the abyss. Thus, IzinDuna moved to the second son, Lobengula, to take his place, and in late September 1868, the center of the assembly of the whole nation, took the throne of the people of nDebele.
Some gang members, or cohorts, were against his height, mainly because his mother was a Swazi woman and considered inferior. But Lupengola proved himself a real leader, and he threw down this rebel wing with one arm and the rest of his reign.
It was said that the streets of the capital, Gu-Bulawayo, or place of slaughter, were overflowing with blood over the rain that year.
For some time, Simon was considering resigning from his commission. He had enough money to save a cattle area of 3,000 hectares, not large, but sufficient to provide him and his family with a good life. Beth and Beth were always close, but the brush with death made them closer.
The great Afrikanian asked if he wanted to join him in the project, and Pitt agreed. His knowledge of bush and cattle would be an invaluable property.
Patricia and his son Timothy were happy to see Stephen back home. In the first year, everything was better than expected. Patricia and Timothy did not lose any time in making Pitt a member of the family. But he insisted on living on his own. Rondafil built a private dwelling where he slept and created, but joined the family for meals.
After the first year, Simon began to move away from them. It was inconceivable at first, but more and more spent less time on the farm and more on a bottle of whiskey. Where there had never been before, arguments began to emerge between husband and wife. Life soon turned into a scene of tension and controversy.
Bet went around the farm work in a slow and deliberate manner and kept his board. The meals were taken in a tense silence, and the Afrikaner would flee to Rondafil as soon as possible. There, he was smoking his tube, sitting in his huge chair outside the door.
Timothy, 11 years old and younger, liked to join him on a small rocking chair made by his home. He listened intently as Piet told him tales of battles with the Zulu, lion hunting and buffalo, and stories of the great journey Voortrekkers did many years earlier. The boy counted these times as more precious to him. The smell of skin, sweat and blue aromatic spirits, as well as the proximity of this huge man, wrapped him in the safety cocoon, which became a local misery.
Another day, another argument. All voices raised in anger. Normally, Timothy escaped from the ugly voices, but suddenly heard his father shouting his name. Curiosity overcame fear, and Timothy climbed on the curve and put his ear on the edge of the glass door.
"No good, Patricia, the boy is terrified of cattle, of everything that moves, apparently."
His father came in the same, the glass at hand. It was only 10 am. Timothy hears a great grandfather clock hitting the clock. Burglary himself on the wall, still able to hear the sound of enrichment.
"Let him go with a pistol service to me the other day, the first shot, flat on his back." Simon's voice was heard away. "There is no good for man or beast."
Timothy addressed the room briefly. His mother was standing with her hands on the back of the chair, white joints.
"I suppose, in your humble opinion, the answer is to send my son to school in England." God in heaven, Simon, what happened to you? Where is the man I loved? " The last words were a cry of desperation.
"For God's sake, women do not know anything about these things: I will make a man of him if he kills me, now be a good girl and run and leave."
Timothy heard a slap. It looked like a shot.
Again, put his head around the door so that he takes one eye in most of the room. He was in time to see his mother, stand with his father, grab the glass from his hand and throw it violently against the wall behind Simon. He stood there, bewildered, with his hand still in a position as if he were carrying glass.
"When you find my husband, be very nice to tell me," his mother was shaking heavily. "The excuse of having a person standing in front of me is the most unwelcome visitor." Incredibly swept from the room.
Timothy tip the fingers off the slope and run down the short trail. He turned to the long grass, threw himself and cried until pain in his back and shoulders. He was certain that he shed all the tears God gave him.
He did not say anything during dinner that evening. He knew very well what was going on, and he was deeply saddened. The dear friend who saved his life quickly turned into a monster for his wife and son.
As usual, Timothy followed the Afrikaans as he headed for Rondaville. They took their seats, and Timothy waited while Pitt accused his great character and lit them with the deliberations that governed all his actions. The clouds of scented smoke rose into the velvet evening air, and Pitt put out the thick thick tobacco like Timothy's wrist.
The house was on the way through a story about walking around a huge ants face to face with a lion, when Timothy took the exit. "My father hates me!"
Piet stopped talking and his eyes slowly turned.
"You interrupt me, Jung, please explain yourself."
Then all this came to the ground and the tears ran out, while the tears were burning in a small river under the cheeks of Timothy. He did not think he had more tears, yet they came back from somewhere.
"Um Pitt, it's right, I'm weak and I'm afraid of many things."
He jumped out of his chair to escape, but the arm of the huge left house quickly ran out of Mamba and grabbed him by the seat of his trousers. Pull him back and raise him to his lap like a small puppy.
Timothy buried his face in the big chest and wept again. The left hand completely covered the boy's head as he continued to blow into his tube and wait patiently until the storm of pain subsided.
"I'm sorry, Mother House." The sound was very small.
"Sorry, Jung?" The rumbling question came, guttural. "Sorry for what? To cry or to interrupt my story?" The latter spoke in his subtle phantom intensity, and benefited little from the nose of Timothy.
"To cry like a silly girl, Om House ... Father says that men should not cry."
"Then, your father's field is filled with bricks." In English, "this work is from the upper lip or whatever."
"Yes, but you never cry, Om House."
Of course, where does this great knowledge come from? Of course I cry. To "the old in your feelings is like always restrain in the ditch" quickly, not allowed to run. Will make it weak and stubborn and the same thing will "appen to your" eart. "He used his chest.
"But I am weak and afraid of things, or home, my father's right, he wants to send me to school in England to make me a man."
"Verdommt!"
Timothy did not look at the face of a house, or he saw the mouth harden, while blue eyes lit up.
"Tell me, Timothy, you say you're weak, I can carry a 200 pound bag of corn under each arm.
Your father can barely raise one and yet I am alive today because he fought like a lion to save me. If you are much stronger, how do you explain it? "
"I can not, oh House, but I will be very scared of fighting like that.
"Now listen to me well, Mahjong." The houses took possession of his small shoulders and moved to him to be face to face. "In order to speak like that, we put the cry of the God of Abraham in our face, we are all talking for a reason, every part of" a great goal. Never forget that. "
"No, no, Mom House, I will not do that."
"You have raised your love and friendship to me from your own will, a gift that is more valuable to me than gold." So, can you be useless? "
The boy embraced briefly but tightly. Timothy slowly traveled to the house. He had a lot to think about. The house rose and danced in his Rondafil. His anger was intense.
Timothy had another friend who shared all his secrets. NDebele boy about the same age, but bigger. The day after Timothy's conversation with Pitt, Mbizo met in their secret place and went together to the bush. They went beyond usual, Mbizo carrying his armor and assegai, Timothy with Assegai Mbizo introduced him. Suddenly Mpizo stopped dying and was called Timothy.
"Ghali!
Timothy felt a jump in his throat. Look at the shoulder of Mbizo and saw two tiger cubs. Mibisu whispered to Timothy to walk very slowly the way she had come.
Come on, they went. Very, very slowly. Timothy's eyes were fixed on the back of the muscles in Mbizo. He poured sweat from the little boy. He felt that he was descending on both sides of the armpits, down his back and out of his chest. He believed that all creation would hear his heart pounding his ribs. Do not look around you. Do not breathe until watching Mbizo. Oh my God, please let this end! Please make us safe. Not far away. nearly there --
Suddenly, there was a swish, flying a flash of anger spotted after his head. The big cat landed with its front claws on the back of a mabizo, and the boy was crushed to the ground. Timothy saw the unforgiving jaw open and tried to take his friend's head in his mouth. Mibizo turned and turned and then tried to cuddle the animal, but he stuck tight.
Timothy looked in horror. What would he do? He was the prisoner of his fear. The kidnapping of the conversation with Oom Piet came from him the night before. This was his best friend under that killing machine. Run! Run away! Hide! Pretending he did not see what happened. Then Ohm's face turned. In his dreams, he had to explain to himself his best friend. Like lightning these thoughts flicker through his mind. He started jumping up and down in frequency. Then, from somewhere deep in his primitive cuddles, he gave a cry, an animal more than a human being, and rushed to where his friend Tiger succeeded.
In the panic of panic, stabbed in the back spotted. The big cat turned in anger to face her attacker. At the moment, perched, then emerged in Timothy. He saw his brute blood, yellow eyes as they hit him on the ground under her weight. He was able to hold his fingers and push him to the belly of the trout.
The last thing he remembered before forgetting was the foul smell of the rotten, rotten smell.
"My God, where is he? Where can he have gone? House, you sure you did not see him? Did not he say anything to you?"
Patricia is going back and forth on the slope, her steps jerky and uncoordinated. She was still wiping her hands, a handkerchief gathered between them.
"Mifro, if you know, you know I'll tell you."
Patricia moved quickly to him and put his hand on his arm. "Piet, I know, I'm sorry, I know you've done everything you can."
Only then Simon appeared at the door, the full glass at hand.
"The poor boy, tell him never to walk like this, teach him a lesson."
His house moved toward him as soon as he appeared, and now he passed over him. Very quietly, he took the cup from Simon's hand and with great deliberation, smashed the contents of his face.
"If there is one word out of your mouth, Munir, I will be forced to do so. You poor wife will not want to see your tongue on the beautiful wooden floor."
Simon glowed at him, and with a puzzled look on his face, turned and walked uncomfortably. He did not see him again that night.
At that time, there was a sound on the slope and two Africans appeared. They wore heads of 'zinDuna' and were fully dressed for leopard skins and monkey tails. Piet went to them and entered into an intense conversation. Finished, two Africans made promises again in the short dusk that fled before the night of encroachment.
"Mifro, Timothy is safe, despite being injured. 'E in the Great Kral of Lobengula." Patricia Fainted.
Beth moved into the place where a pile was placed on the ground. Take it as a child and gently put it on the big couch. She covered her blanket and quietly left the room. She came, but the tremendous exhaustion overcame her and she slept.
I woke up the next morning to feel warm. The memory of her son was brought alive quickly to her feet. Piet was on the curve smoking his pipe and went and joined him.
"Mifro, have you been able to sleep?"
"I did it, Piet.
"I've done it, Mifro, but" we're here "is a bit puzzled.Timothy is alive and recovering, yes, but" he was with a boy and one of the Lobengula's favorite sons.
"No, Beth, no idea at all." Patricia Abs. "I have never heard of him."
"It seems that because of Timothy's work, this boy still lives." Whoever was injured was worse than Timothy. Mifro, if he dies, so does Timothy. Son of son. "
The color drained from Patricia's face.
"You mean she will kill my son just because the other boy dies? Piet, this - this is Berber." Her voice almost rose to scream, and buried her face in her hands.
"I know, Mievro, but we do not deal with people in good suit suits, who do their work in drawing rooms, this is Africa, Mifro, and" we are dealing with their old law. "
Only, they heard a voice behind them. Simon was on the threshold of the drawing room, sticking to the door for support. It looked awful. The eyes were in the white face chalk soaked and tear, and looked as if he was crying. There was no sign of glass. Patricia hurried over to him and helped him on a chair.
"Is Timothy - Found?" His voice was barely louder than the whisper, the question timid and nervous.
"All is well."
"Good God, I must wash," he mumbles, trying to stand up.
He was halfway through washing his face, when he turned and threw himself beside the toilet and vomit. All Patricia can do is watch. Watching and praying that she was seeing the last visitor is not welcome.
Simon recovered, took his feet, returned to the wash basin and cleaned his teeth. "Go back to bed now, my love, I'll help you."
But he returned to the drawing room. He swung to the door, then leaned on it. "a house".
Afrikaaner was standing with his back to the door, but with Simon's voice, he was circling around. "Piet, I can not fully express it -"
But the big man went to him and wrapped him in the bear's hug. Patricia watched as the two men spoke, her eyes bright. Finally, Simon turned and went unsteadily to her. She put an arm around his shoulders.
"Back to bed, love.
He whispered "Ya Habibi". "I've caused you so much pain." "
"Now forget, come."
He led him to the bedroom, covered him with a blanket, and returned to a house in the drawing room.
"The weak wrestling with" is the conscience, but I was told that if we never make mistakes, we will be on a level with God, which makes God a great obstacle.
Patricia did not remember when she laughed.
They heard Simon vomit again in the bathroom. Patricia started to go to him, but a house stopped her.
"No, Mevrou, leave" im being. You must vomit E of evil and this is inside Im. "Patricia encountered." Tomorrow, Mifro. Tomorrow we go to Timothy. "
The horse and the choke threw a handful of bauxite dust while making their way to the "Great Kerala". The mapani trees appear short, slender, and purple spanning infinitely on both sides of the track. Simon and Patricia hold hands. The color returned to his face and was much better.
Finally, they came on the horizon of Kraal. It was huge. Two giant elephant tails were placed on high hills, forming an arc that led in turn to the road. In the end was the throne of the king.
"We are leaving our weapons as well."
Patricia felt as unimportant as the ant where she looked at the archway and then the road ahead, lined with thousands of tribesmen. It was a distance of 100 yards to where Lobengula sat, surrounded by his wives, senior 'zinDuna and some of his offspring. As soon as they walked under great canines, total silence fell. no sound. Without movement. It was as if the whole assembly had been turned into stone.
I walked between the two men. As they walked, the fighters fell behind them, using their shields gently with Asiji. Patricia appeared to be automatically tense in preparation for the bayonet she felt she would set on the ground. Finally, they arrived before the king.
He was a huge man, sitting on a huge throne on a hill six feet above their heads. He wore only a minaret and made liberal use of the air force he carried in his right hand. Lupengola's house bowed, followed by Patricia and Simon. Open the chat house in sinDebele. The king smiled.
"But we have to speak English, I enjoy this practice, and others may not be as fluent in our tongue as you are." He nodded toward a house. Patricia was expecting a big, buoyant voice, and was surprised by his quiet, semi-precious tones. His English was impeccable.
Simon bowed to him. "Your Majesty, it is a great honor to stand before you."
Lobengula likes to be called "Majesty". Typically, it was known as "nGhulu nDhlovu", or a large elephant. This had no effect on its size! Simply Africans consider the elephant to be the king of monsters.
They offered Cholva, an African beer of milky color, and Patricia found it surprisingly good.
"Thank you for the gracious greeting, and we will drink for our friendship." Lupengola drained his big pussy and handed him over to one of his wives. "Now we have to talk about your son." Patricia shaved throat.
"My son is alive today," continued Lupengola, "because of your son's most courageous work." He moved his fingers, and a warrior of them came from the crowd surrounding the king, carrying a piece wrapped in oxhide. Put it on their feet. "In that," the king continued, "is the skin of the tiger that killed your son with courage, with the tail of the monkey, his head nDuna, his black armor and iklwa. Timothy appeared holding the hand of the left woman, while a young black man was accompanying them and holding onto her right. Both boys were singing and singing. They came to the three Europeans. Mbizo bowed.
"My name is Mbizo," he said in a stop English. "I'm the most - most apologizing Timot is the most courageous." NDebele found it impossible to pronounce the sound "th".
"I'm very glad you're okay, Mabizu." Patricia moved and sat in front of him. "If the great king permits, you must come to visit us often."
"I like, crazy."
Timothy whispered something in his ear.
"I'm sorry, madam."
Timothy rushed to his mother and rolled his arms away. Kissed him all his head then went to his father and did the same thing. Patricia noticed tears in Simon's eyes while he was catching the boy.
"Now if you want, you are expelled," Lupengola said as he sat on his throne.
When they made their way backwards on the wide road, which was hit hard and thousands of feet wide, the sound of a huge three-fold sound floated in the air. He rose like a graceful bird, invisible in the timeless African sky. Before falling off, he was captured from the deepest bass note, followed by complex rhythms, monotonous of ten thousand throat.
"Oh how beautiful," cried Patricia. "What's this, Beth?"
"Verdommt, but they sing 'Bayete.' Great Hymn of Honor."
"Do they sing to us, Mother of a house?" Timothy asked.
"They sing it to you, Timothy, just for you."
He passed his hand almost through his eyes.
"You die of sweat," he murmured.
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